


That's it.

by WeNeedARuse



Series: Vandermorston- A Trilogy. [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Again, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Dutch directs, M/M, Sex, Threesome, Top Arthur, morston, vandermorgan - Freeform, vandermorston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 04:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19077337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: Another rented hotel room.Arthur and John and Dutch the sequel.





	That's it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying and failing at my latest Vandermorgan one-shot so I wrote this filth instead.
> 
> This is the same as before, it's not Arthur and Dutch from my series. 
> 
> There is literally no reason for this. 
> 
> I just can't help myself.
> 
> Comments and kudos would be wonderful, the other Vandermorston I wrote went surprisingly well so thank you!
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> I still can't stop.

John is sprawled out in his lap, sucking hot and opened mouthed at his throat as he unbuttons Arthur’s shirt with an almost uncoordinated haste. Arthur laughs at the onslaught.

“Come on Morgan,” Petulant and demanding and all John. Arthur shifts just a little so that he can see him, tilts his head so he can look him in the eyes. 

The dark shape behind him doesn’t move.

Arthur wets his lips.

“At least kiss me properly first.” John’s eyes widen and he presses forwards eagerly.

Only to be pulled back forcefully by a hand wrapped around his throat from behind.

“I think not.”

Arthur hopes his expression is unreadable. It’s dangerous to provoke Dutch in this situation.

He can’t help himself.

And Dutch’s eyes are dark in the shade of the room, intent on him even as his fingers curl around Johns jaw and tilt his head full back. Arthur is captivated by the sight of him, the presence of him, the knowledge deep inside of the reason that he’s here.

Until Dutch leans over

Until Dutch’s mouth hovers over John’s parted lips.

Arthur’s hands clench on the fabric of his trousers.

Tongue and teeth and bitten lips.

He should have known he can’t play him and win.

He takes a breath. Control, control. He has to have it here.

He can’t have this both ways.

He leans back, eyes the display. John is arched back now into Dutch’s body, moaning softly, arms reaching up over his head to curl around Dutch’s shoulders and hold on. It’s a pretty sight, he has to admit.

More so when Dutch’s gaze finds his, locks on.

And Arthur’s dwindling erection perks up fully at that.

John laughs and wriggles in his lap. Too tall, too solid really, to be so well perched there, to be doing that. 

Arthur feels himself grunt when he hits right, tightens his grip on John’s hips and pulls him down hard.

Dutch’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder then, fingers stroking beneath the collar of his shirt.

Warm and possessive.

And then he’s moving. Back to the bed, setting himself down on the edge as his chair is so obviously occupied. 

Arthur turns back to John, presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

“Get on your knees.” John’s brow furrows, which makes Arthur shake his head at him. Obviously he thought he was going to get fucked out of his mind first before anything else. Selfish bastard.

John always wants to get fucked when they do this.

But Arthur wants something more.

And when John’s settled between his spread open legs, head bobbing in his lap, the wet sounds filthy and debauched and loud in his ear,

He looks to Dutch.

More.

Predator.

Prey.

Arthur’s hands come to rest on John’s head. Fingers gripping in his hair, curling the strands and tugging hard. Guiding. 

He’s good at this, he thinks absently, eyes rolling in his head a moment as John cups his balls, fingers feeling, feeling, feeling…

“Sucking cock seems about the only thing you excel at Marston.” He mutters. Laughs to himself as John pulls off him to shoot him an indignant glare.

“Fuck you Arthur.”

“Oh I ain’t going to. Not after that.”

“Boys.” Dutch’s warning is deep and amused, the way Arthur likes it.

The way he craves it.

He feels light today, he realises. For the first time in a long time. Light and relaxed and ready.

He laughs.

Grips to John’s jaw and guides him back to his cock, slipping through those lips.

Wet heat.

“Yes.” He murmurs.

“There. Yes, that’s it…” 

Soft beneath his breath, rolling his hips up a little into him.

“Easy, that’s it.”

And Dutch is suddenly standing, moving towards them both again, filling his vision.

“I think that’s enough now.”

Jealousy.

They pretend they don’t have it but the undercurrent of it is always there.

Dutch does this for him because Arthur wants it.

But he will never give him full reign.

That’s the deal.

“Arthur, lay down on the bed. John, come here.” Arthur pushes John away from him and goes instantly. He and Dutch have had years together to learn one another. It takes John a second, a few moments of hesitation. He doesn’t like being told what to do.

Especially by Dutch.

Arthur undresses and leans back on his elbows, watching as Dutch turns to whisper something in John’s ear. He reaches across the bed to Dutch’s whiskey glass to take a sip, desire rising in him at the sudden flush to John’s cheeks, the shocked moan.

Dutch’s hand out of sight.

John’s head lolling back, cock jutting out, legs spreading a little.

Arthur knows how skilled those fingers are.

Especially placed where they are.

He wishes for them now himself. For a half a second he wants John gone and Dutch over him, fingers in his ass, getting him off with filthy words spat in his ear.

But it’s only a split second.

Because John is moving towards him.

Crawling up the bed over him.

Straddling his lap, spilling his whiskey, stroking his hands up Arthur’s chest and pushing him flat to the bed.

Arthur loses it,

When Dutch’s hand wraps around his cock, 

Holds him in place for John to sink down.

Loses it again when Dutch doesn’t move that hand,  
So that only the tip of him is in John. So that he can’t thrust up and John can’t rock down.

So that they’re held in limbo, animal instincts begging to take over.

Arthur growls, whole body taut and ready.

And Dutch is smiling at him, wicked. 

A long moment more and he’s pretty sure none of them are breathing, all three of them holding their breath in this. Before the onslaught, before the storm, before it ends.

Then Dutch pushes John suddenly, grabs him by the back of the neck and holds him down over Arthur, rears up over the both of them.

The strength in him is awe inspiring.

“Fuck him.” 

Arthur does as he’s told, pulls his legs up, feet flat to the bed as he thrusts up into John. Shudders at the first full contact.

Sets a bruising pace.

And still Dutch is holding him down.

So that John can’t move.

Only take it.

And one look at his face, and the sound of that first aching groan tells Arthur that John is loving this.

He wonders what Dutch had been whispering to him.

And then, he wonders no more. All his thoughts go. Lost in the pure pleasure of fucking him. Lost in the sounds John’s making, pressed up against his chest now, his fingers gripping bruises into Arthurs upper arms.

Lost in the begging, in the pleading.

Lost when John comes untouched, when he feels the scalding heat across his stomach and the wrecked shudders.

The bite.

And he fucks up into him harder then, his body on fire, needing to come before he goes mad.

He’s almost there.

Holding John tight to him, one arm looped around his waist to hold him in place.

“So good,” He mutters, dropping his head back.

John’s lips on his jaw.

Dutch’s teeth…

“Shit...goddamn…” So close, so fucking close, wild and desperate and almost, almost…

“Stop now.” Dutch’s voice cuts through everything and he does, his body screaming at him to continue. He can feel his breaths ragged in his chest, burning his throat. He rocks his head to the side to look at Dutch.

Waits.

“John,” Dutch sounds calm but there’s something beneath the surface, something darker. Something promising. “Go and get yourself cleaned up.”

“Dutch…” His voice is even more gravelly, so much so it barely sounds like John. 

“Take your time.”

John’s wrecked, Arthur can see that, standing on shaky legs like a newborn foal. Wrecked and messy and stupidly pretty.

Arthur smiles at him.

Turns to Dutch when the door closes.

“Now,” 

Dutch moves over him,

Pushing his legs apart,

Settles himself in between.

And even though he’s still fully clothed Arthur can feel how hard he is.

“Now,” Dutch says again, reaching down with slick fingers, “It’s my turn.”


End file.
